


lorde describes historical moments

by shaketheuniverse



Category: American History - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, WRITING THIS WAS A MISTAKE, be afraid of me, i wrote these in class, kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 07:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14492094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaketheuniverse/pseuds/shaketheuniverse
Summary: you wouldn't believe how extreme my senioritis is because i've actually taken to writing fanfiction about historical figures we're no longer learning about





	lorde describes historical moments

**Author's Note:**

> lit

Parties were never George’s thing.

Until Gil came along.

Gil saw the colors in everything - in the midnight darkness when the streets had gone to rest, he could take your hand and show you the rainbow that lurked under streetlights and in puddles. In the dismal daylight of an approaching storm, he could turn cobblestones to gold in a footstep.

In a golden party, however, George can see no Gil and no color.

Had the painter mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to make it? George couldn’t remember. It seemed entirely plausible that he had forgotten, for age had made him weak and forgetful, and his brain often threw away knowledge his heart deemed useful (once, he forgot Martha’s birthday). In the long, long eight years of being President of the country, he had taught himself to forget and see only the monochrome version of things.

Again, Gil came along and all that changed.

Where, oh where, was the infamous Gilbert Stuart now? At their last meeting, under the awful September sun, Washington had invited him to the party at Mount Vernon, where the mountains kissed the horizon and the horizon kissed back.

“Sir?” a voice interrupted his inner monologue. George turned with a hopeful glint in his eye, but alas! ‘Twas just a servant.

“What is it?” George sighed

“A...woman is asking to come in. She says her name is Jillian.”

“I know not of this Jillian, but bring her to me all the same,” George commanded. The servant mumbled an affirmative and went to fetch the mysterious Jillian. George turned around to face the cliff across the Potomac and bemoan his losses of love and work, when a gentle tap got his attention.

“Beautiful river, is it not?” someone whispered, voice cracking and burning like a fire. George turned to the person only to see his lover.

“Gilbert! I thought you couldn't make it!”

“I have my ways,” Gil replied, a mischievous smile twinkling on his lips. It was then that George looked down to see that Gil was wearing a dress not unlike one Martha had owned as well as a tall wig that made him look truly like somewhat of a woman.

“Why pretend to be a woman in order to see me? You know that Martha doesn't mind, for she has a mistress of her own,” George laughed.

“Ah, but your children, George! Your sons and daughters suspect us. It is better if they believe I am a woman,” Gil teased back, though a serious air surrounded the conversation.

“''Tis a truly unfortunate thing, that we must hide the last true love in the country,” George sighed again, realizing the true misfortune of his situation. The former president, a man of insane power, in love with another man? The press would have a fit, and George would live out his last few years in a nuthouse till age did him in.

Age or depression.

The concern shows on his face, adding a million wrinkles around his eyes.

"George, why don't we dance? I look enough like a woman in this horrendous outfit. Let's make the most of it."

Gil has this smile - it's torturous, really. It could talk a doctor off a cliff. George knows it better than anyone, for this is the smile of a man who convinced George to pose for countless paintings, to move on past all the men he'd lost in the war, and now, the man who had convinced George to dance.

George sighs, then laughs, then takes Gil's gloved hand in his. Together, they dance a ballroom waltz designed for two lovers, one learned years earlier. They spin and twirl and sashay across the patio, moving on angels' feet. When the violin stops, they look at each other with all the stars in their eyes.

Gil laughs.

George laughs.

They're both laughing like they'll die tomorrow and they'll live tonight and in a century they won't need to be remembered, for what's the point in being remembered anyways? To help future generations?  
  
George and Gil decide that they don't care.


End file.
